Wonderland
by IndiaInk147
Summary: Moriarty 'invites' Sherlock's nearest and dearest to a sinister tea party. Drabble for Jade on twitter that took on a life of it's own.


**A drabble for Jadewardle that took on a life of it's own. It's a one-shot at the moment, but if you like it, let me know and I'll continue :P**

"Get the fucking fuck off of me!" John yelled thrashing his legs blindly as strong arms held his on either side, dragging him inexorably forward into blackness. The blindfold, tied uncomfortably tight around his aching head, was suddenly filled with cold light, every tiny hole in the fabric illuminated like stars.

"Such language, John Watson!" his voice came from far away, heavy with amused disapproval. A voice he knew all too well – that accent, the lilt, the sarcastic playfulness that belied the true danger of Jim Moriarty – he was a like a bored child, changeable, unpredictable. Intent on toying with you in one moment and, by his next breath, set on killing you.

"Moriarty," John breathed, struggling even harder against the strong arms banded around him, strong hands pushing him downwards. He felt like his collar bones would splinter, rending his shoulders in two, under the pressure and so he let himself go, uncoiling his determined muscles and falling into sitting position on a surprisingly plush chair.

"Look at that, he's already learning to be submissive, what a good boy," Irish lilt and footsteps, getting closer. He felt fingers on his chin, tilting it upward. "And call me Jim," John could practically feel his smile.

Thin, cold fingers slid into the hair behind John's ears, reptilian smooth, untying the fabric around the blogger's eyes and pulling it away.

"Where am I?" John demanded his eyes darting around as the body-less arms from earlier remained behind him, just out of his periphery, tying his wrists together. The room was huge and draughty, all white and concrete like a warehouse or airplane hangar. But there were no goods, no airplane, just Jim Moriarty, barely a thin silhouette in the white beams of two floodlights.

"Wonderland," Jim sing-songed, careening towards him like a dark-haired tornado in tailored Westwood. He was behind John, hands on his shoulders, cold, minty breath on the curve of his neck, just below his ear, rocking the desk chair he was sitting on like a cradle. "We've got Dumb and Dumber over there," Jim span John's chair wildly, the world blurring into nothing but whiteness and light, stopping him abruptly to face Anderson and Donovan, similarly bound. "Wave hello, John! Oh wait, you can't, never mind,"

Jim was grinning as he turned John slightly to the left.

"Then we have our Caterpillar and his little Cheshire Cat," Jim pranced away from him, to ruffle Lestrade's hair, pushing him closer to Mycroft, who was sporting a large, angry-purple black eye, both of them yelling loudly against the duct tape over their mouths, silvery white in the brightness of the room. "Don't they make a cute couple?"

He walked slowly back to John, adjusting him to face Irene Adler, stoic as ever with a white rag in her mouth. "Our delicious little White Queen," He smiled darkly, before turning John yet again to face Mrs Hudson, glaring at Moriarty, a long red scratch on her cheek that made John's skin boil, and a strip of duct tape on her lips. "The White Rabbit," He hissed like a cat at the older woman, who strained against her bonds violently.

Beside Mrs Hudson sat Molly, still in her St Barts lab coat, shaking visibly. Jim grinned at her, "trusting, love starved little Molly Hooper, the Dormouse, who introduced me to the man himself,"

"You Bastard!" John squirmed, trying doggedly to reach Moriarty, spewing profanity. Jim clamped a small, lean hand over his mouth. "That's enough out of you! Now, unfortunately, Caroll didn't give Alice a love interest, so you'll just have to be 'John'," Moriarty sighed, pulling John into the open space in the circle, facing an empty chair. He pulled the fabric of John's former blindfold out of his pocket in-between John's teeth and tied it once more, gagging the doctor. He then sauntered over to the empty chair, seating himself regally. "Of course, I'm the Red Queen in this little tale. Now we wait for darling Alice to come and rescue you all," He grinned, accepting a tiny porcelain cup of tea from one of his goons, "Isn't this fun?"

He waved his little helpers away, out of the big double doors behind him and, presumably, into the hallway. Draining his tea delicately, he began counting back from 5. "...4...3...2..."

Gunshot.

Everyone jumped, except for Moriarty, who raised his hands as if conducting – waiting for the slide of bow against strings. Another gunshot, a scuffle, something slamming into a wall, frantic footsteps. Moriarty twisted his hands in the air, directing this violent orchestration with a blissful smile.

Gunshot, gunshot, a smash, something cracking and a door. Jim quickened his pace, building to the climax of the song – the slide of a gun against the back of his head. He sighed in pleasure.

"Took you long enough," He sing-songed, spinning himself on the desk chair like a playful child, smiling at the gun now between his eyebrows. He pointed to it, "_That's _not very friendly,"

"Neither is kidnapping my friends," The detective snarled evenly, pressing the gun in a hard circle against Jim's head.

"I take it you killed all my men?" Moriarty asked, Sherlock nodded tightly, "Thank you! I've been meaning to thin my workforce, but redundancies are _so _much paperwork,"

"Shut up," Sherlock said, "Shut up, or I'll kill you. I'll probably kill you anyway," His hands shook.

"Good," Moriarty grinned, rising slowly to his feet. Sherlock kept the gun trained on him. "Excellent. Such rage, such passion. About time, eh John?" Moriarty glanced back at the blogger with a smutty grin.

"Don't talk to him," Sherlock struck Moriarty lightly with the barrel of the gun, pushing the hollow of his cheek hard enough to bruise, "Don't even look at him,"

"Oooh, someone doesn't like to share their toys, do they?" Moriarty smiled, his lips peeling backwards in slow realisation. "But wait. He's not just a toy is he-"

"Moriarty," Sherlock's finger pushed back ever so slightly against the trigger.

"Oh, but he's not," The madman let out a delighted laugh, "He's so much more! For shame, Sherlock. How long has it been since you realised you were in love with your little pet?"

Sherlock had gone slack jawed, staring at Moriarty.

"Oops, hadn't you told him? Silly me," He shrugged, "Woah, hey, can't blame a guy for telling the truth, now can you?" Moriarty held up his hands as Sherlock's finger curled around the cool metal trigger...

**Dun dun dun. Let me know if you liked it :D**


End file.
